Invincibility
by xXxUnReQuitEdxXx
Summary: After a heated conversation, Michael ends up with what he wants – a family. Except it is not with Nikita. Birkoff holds Nikita's secret, but is not sure what to do with it.
1. Chapter 1

Invincibility

**Summary: **After a heated conversation, Michael ends up with what he wants – a family. Except it is not with Nikita. Birkoff holds Nikita's secret, but is not sure what to do with it.

**Chapter 1 **

Michael hated the fact that Nikita made the choice for him. Well, he strongly knew she had done it for him. So here he was, fulfilling his role as a father to his son, Max. The day was bright and warm with a brush of gentle breeze now and then. He sat with Cassandra on the bench, watching over Max who was busying himself in the sand pit and occasionally chatting with his building buddy, a kid near his age. Cassandra and Michael don't much at all, unless of course, the topic was about Max's welfare. The two got along as parents. That was as far as Michael would let it go. He didn't find the motivation to go beyond that, and was even more content with staying as they were. They weren't involved, so they were in no way complicated. His eyes were trained on Max, but his mind was elsewhere. Nikita. Michael wondered what she would be doing at this very moment.

It has already been three years since he last saw her. The last of her he saw was her back as she sturdily walked away. He can clearly recall the way the wind had blown pass her, giving him an eerie feeling like it would be the last he ever saw of her. Her dark brown hair and black trench coat swayed ever so swiftly, amplifying a mystic effect. Damn. If he had been strong enough to make a decision, maybe he wouldn't be having regrets. His longing for Nikita is still as strong as the day she left.

They had just concluded their most recent mission - save and secure Cassandra and Max. They were slowly making their way towards Birkoff's closest transport station.

_The tread was quiet with the exception of screaming children and chirping birds. Though no words were exchanged between them, but the silence wasn't awkward either. Nikita drowned into her thoughts while Michael was drunk with feelings of fatherhood. He had always loved being a father, back when his daughter was alive. Now, after spending only a short period of time with Max, his paternal feelings tumbled back like an earthquake, knocking him senseless and making him second guess his plans. He couldn't begin to explain how much he wanted his own family, just like he once had. It seemed like the fight against Division will never end. Its power was so deeply rooted in international relations, economy, and politics, that it was impossible to completely extract it. Even with Division gone, the world would continue to coexist with corruption, abuse, poverty, and the list just doesn't end. This made their fight that much more insignificant and meaningless. They were wasting their lives fighting a loss cause, when instead, they should be building their lives and enjoying each other. They could get married and maybe have children, eventually. _Till death do we part, _Michael thought amusingly._

"_Michael, you'd be a great father," Nikita said, breaking the silence between them. Michael was immediately brought back to the present, surprised at what she just said. It was as if Nikita had somehow tapped into his mind. _

"_What are you trying to say?" Perhaps she was seeing this under the same light as he was. _

"_I'm saying you should be a father." They stopped walking, making the moment more critical, bordering a grim edge._

"_Isn't that what you always wanted?"_

"_Yes, but I can't imagine it happen without you," Michael reply quite taken back at the direction of this conversation. _

"_It has already happened." _

_Nikita bore an expression that betrayed no weaknesses, no emotion. It was as if this was strictly business regarding Michael and his wants. There was no room for her feelings and she wasn't asking for any. She never has._

_Michael, after a pregnant silence, scrutinized her face, wondering what she was trying to convey, "Nikita, we know why I'm not with Max."_

"_We agreed that it was too dangerous." She crossed her arms, maintaining her stern posture._

"_So why on earth are you bringing this back up again? Are you trying to cause me more frustration? Walking away every time I see him is painful enough. I don't want to leave him, never did," Michael was becoming very angry. _

"_I know. You make it very clear every time."_

_Her words stabbed him, making him feel guilty for putting her in such a position. She was always there to protect Max and Cassandra, but never once did he thank her. For God's sake the woman was protecting his child, a child that didn't belong to her and whom will forget her soon enough. At the same time he was angry. It really was time to drop their crusade and start a family, despite the fact that she wasn't ready for motherhood. God he was fucking selfish and despicable for even the slightest thought of blaming her for not wanting the same thing. But it was true – he was frustrated. _

_He tried changing the tone of the conversation by introducing another angle. "Nikita, maybe this whole fight against Division just isn't worth it. We are a miniscule team taking on a military of assassins. We are underfunded and severely outnumbered. We might not even live to see another day."_

"_Are you saying this because you want a family of your own?" she asked with a frown, as if discovering a side of Michael she hadn't seen before._

"_I… I don't know. Maybe. Maybe so. Even if I am, is it so wrong? Is it wrong to have a family? I've been in this business far too long. I want something different outside of violence, brutality, and torture. I don't want more blood on my hands."_

"_Michael, I thought we'd agreed to fini…" Nikita tried to say, but Michael interrupted her._

"_Forget what we agreed once upon a time! Things are different. When can we start valuing our lives? When can we have our own time?"_

"_This is the precise point I wanted to make. Thank you for being so understanding so quickly."_

_Her reply surprised him, 'What do you mean?"_

"_I wanted to tell you to stay with Max. With Cassandra," she said as she looked towards the cement ground. To distract herself from her panging heart, she tried observing the fine detailed linings of the pavement. _

"_What…What?!" Michael was in disbelief._

"_You're a slow today, Michael," Nikita said with sarcasm to lighten the mood, but to no avail. Michael was staring at her as if she had just returned from an alternate universe, where there was no distinction between ideality and reality. "I am insisting that you stay with your son."_

_Michael laughed and brushed his brow, "Nikita, as we said before..."_

"_Forget what we said before! You being with me, fighting Division, there will ALWAYS be danger haunting us," she argued, raising her voice. She was trying to give him her blessings and the man was too stupid to accept. "You'll never get what you want at this rate. The more you're in this with me, the more danger you're going to accrue."_

"_We're in this together," Michael said taking a step towards her. He wanted to hold onto her in reassurance that he would not leave her side. He wasn't' going to abandon her like he had once before._

"_Well I'm insisting that you stay here," she said as she took a step back. She didn't need his pity. She didn't need his comfort, "Be honest with yourself Michael. This is going to hang over you your entire life. You're not simply going to wake up one morning and stop wanting this, wanting something I can never give you."_

"_But you can give it to me. All you have to do is choose to have it, to give up the fight," he reasoned with glimpse of hope in his eyes._

"_I hope you know what you're asking of me. I can't just stop."_

_The frustration was returning with rage._

"_You CAN STOP!" he yelled as he grabbed onto her arms. He shook her wanting to find something more agreeable and familiar in her. He wanted to find the string that kept them together on the same path through thick and thin. _

"_I can't," Nikita whispered, her voice quivering._

"_Then do you know what you're asking of me?" he asked, holding onto the sides of her face, forcing her to look him eye-to-eye. He could see that she held back tears that were instantly building up, but at this moment, he was too angry to care._

"_Do. You. Know. What. You. Are. Asking. Of. Me." He repeated each word singularly, making her know that she too was being selfish. Venom shadowed each syllable. _

_Finally her tears fell, and so did her eyes. She couldn't face him. But he shook her once again, recapturing her eyes. She said nothing, not wanting to feel the emotional consequences of her choices. Feeling pain was her business, but forcing pain on another was something too difficult to come to terms with._

"_Let me tell you. Are you not asking me to die with you, for you, to possibly be subdued to torture if it ever came to be?" Her breathing labored, but she gave no reply, all of which annoyed him even more. "Answer me, dammit!"_

"_Ugh," she breathed heavily, no longer able to endure the tension. She allowed the tears to fall freely. As she pushed his firm hands away, she took a few steps back. With a look so despicable, that Michael could taste bitterness on his own tongue, she spoke, "Yes, I am… No, I was. I am not asking the same of you anymore. As a matter of fact, I'm no longer asking you for anything."_

_Michael stared at her. With a heavy inhale, Nikita continued, "If freedom was what you wanted, you have it now. If family and a child is what you desire, you have it still. All you have to do is stay, like what I am insisting right now."_

_Michael expected her to not be able to walk away from her campaign against Division, but the anticipation could not ward off his disappointment. He wanted to stay by her just as he had promised her once upon a time. But after experiencing so much, his beliefs had slowly started to change. They had unknowingly drifted far away from the same dreams they shared. He had to admit, his anger was also a driving factor of his choice, but he could care less right now. He could not calm the flame, maybe because he desperately wanted a family. So it gave him reason and the rationality he could not deny. Didn't want to deny._

"_If you say that one more time, I don't think I can deny you," he said meekly. _

"_I insist you stay," she restated without hesitation. She used the cuffs of her coat to swiftly wipe away her tears, trying to rid them as fast as they had come. The sins of crying weren't a luxury for people like her. Her expression returned to its stern state. _I never cried,_ it said. _

_Michael looked at her in disbelief. So this was it – the end of Michael and Nikita. He really hoped that she would refuse to let him go, that she spoke her words in a fit of anger like he half had. He was torn, but a decision was made for him. He didn't feel like refuting it; he was too weak to. His insides were not at battle any longer. _

"_Nikita…" he started, but nothing followed. He just didn't know how to make the situation better, how to comfort her. He didn't know how to fix them._

"_Michael, it really is going to be ok," she said with the slightest etch of smile. She was sincerely wishing him the best of luck, "I do have one more thing to ask of you."_

"_Anything." He looked at her with a sorrow face, unable to show anything merrier._

"_Be happy, because if you aren't, then all goes to hell." _

_With that said, she started walking away. _

That was the scene that still haunts him. He was a coward to have decided something for himself. He had allowed that to be an excuse for his cowardice. But reflecting on the past three years, he hadn't actually been happy. Yes, a family was what he wanted, but the more important factor was that he had it with _her_. He could clearly see that now, but it seemed all too late.

Michael did actually assume that they would keep in touch. But ever since that regrettable day, everything changed including all of Nikita's and Birkoff's numbers. There was no way he could contact them. He would know because he tried, many times. He wanted to beg her to take him back, but that way just didn't exist.

"What is on your mind?" Cassandra asked.

He was astonished, because in all their years co-habiting together, Cassandra never once asked anything too personal, not that he would be willing to tell. So he said nothing, being the cold bastard he was once infamously known for.

"You miss her, I know," she continued. His silence confirmed her suspicions.

"It really is ok to. If I'd known that this life would drain you of your spirits, I would have asked you to be with her. You're dying here and you don't know it."

Michael felt the tears threatening to overflow the rims of his eyes. He wanted what he once had – to be with Nikita. He missed her smile that filled his world with joy, the love she could not give more, and her presence he had the world's luck to be embraced within. He thought of the wonderful times they had together. They were amidst a war, but they had each other. That was the point, he now realized: they had each other. And now, he was broken.

No longer able to resist, he hands covered his faced and he leaned on his knees. He let the tears fall, flooding the creases of his fingers. He would give anything to be with Nikita again. Three painfully long years. He always wondered how she might have changed. He had taken for granted what he was blessed with.

Cassandra put her arms around him, offering the only comfort she could give.

"Michael, I truly am sorry."

"She has no idea how sorry I am," Michael mumbled.

Together the two spent the remaining hours of daylight in silence. Casssadra stared off, wondering what will happen to Max if Nikita did decide to reappear. And Michael, with his mind set of the image of Nikita's back, dreams of the day she will look at him again.

Daring to be selfish again, he wishes that Nikita weren't as invincible as she is portrayed. He hopes that sometime down the road, she still needs him just as much.

Unbeknownst to him, he really needs to be careful for what he wishes for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** Thank you to those who reviewed and those who followed this story. It is a pleasure to keep writing this for you. I wanted to clarify certain aspects of this story. Firstly, it is a short multi-chaptered fiction. Secondly, I've listed it as a tragedy, and so it will be. Thirdly, this is a Mikita fiction, though not in a "love-dovey" way.

Again, much thanks for appreciating this and for taking your precious time in giving me feedback. It has been utmost encouraging and empowering. Enjoy!

**Chapter 2:**

Birkoff stood on the moist layer of sand not minding the occasional brush of the ocean. He stood staring off into the bright sky, but not really enjoying the beauty. He stood listening to the ebb and flow of rough ocean waves, but not really appreciating the peace. Though the scenery was easily one man's dream, it was Birkoff's hell.

He once lived this dream before it was blown away and before everyone scattered to his or her own life. All that remained here were memories of a home, a real home, of people who loved each other. It was the only real one Birkoff had since over six years ago. However, what really disheartened him were not simply the fond memories of home, but of the memories of Nikita – of the time they only had each other to depend upon. They had gotten the rare chance of knowing each other on a deeper level, which in turn allowed their friendship to blossom. He realized that every risk she took was always for the sake of someone else. It wasn't her recklessness that drove her, but rather, it was her who chose to disregard all danger to protect others.

_Nerd, _she would always address. Despite the years, their comical squabbles persisted, even becoming an innate part of their relationship.

Don't call me nerd, _Nikki, _he would always deflect with obvious distaste.

Don't call me Nikki, _nerd_, she would then say ignoring any demands of his.

He respected Nikita, though he would never care to show it. His way to discourage her from certain death missions was to call her crazy, or bonkers, or _flat out crazy._ Knowing it would not have an affect on her choice, he never ceased to stop.

Nikita and Michael was an item, but most details were kept from him, from anyone for that matter. She wasn't the type to talk, and all knew better than to ask. But three years ago, everything changed. They were supposed to return from their rescue-Max mission, but only Nikita was present. When Birkoff asked where Michael was, she only said, "He has priorities elsewhere now". She was already in a sour mood, but saying those very words pissed her off. Maybe because his question had forced her to face the hard truth again that Michael would not be returning. She walked away, and that was the last they ever spoke of Michael.

Birkoff was smart enough to know that by trying to contact Michael, he would be endangering him and his son. He was forced to accept that Michael was not physically part of the team anymore. When Nikita and Michael finally had the chance to be with each other, fate tears them apart, thrusting upon them the ghosts of his past with Division. He knew Michael always wanted a family, especially since Michael's was so tragically stolen from him. Birkoff understood that he should not be angry, but he could not help but feel the injustice for Nikita. She was here, but she was alone, just like he was right now.

Birkoff's eyes followed the flying seagull, watching as its body soared through the infinite sky. Its body was light, unbound, and quick as if nothing could ever catch it. It was like a soul; beautiful, transcendental, free. He imagined Nikita, and is relieved he prays for her peace every day.

Unconsciously, his mind drifts off into a state of reverie, like it does daily against his will. He doesn't want to remember, but he has no choice. It was only a year ago that his life changed so wholly. He would have never thought things would go so sideways. Never had he imagined that they would have so much to lose.

"_Hurry, put this on," Nikita insisted as she thrust her Kevlar harshly to Birkoff's chest, nearly knocking the breath out of him. _

"_Nikki, if I use this," he argued, holding the Kevlar, "you won't have any protection." _

_They started following a trail three weeks ago in compliance with Ryan Fletcher's hunch. He had received intel hinting that some sort of underground activity was quite heavily contributing to Division's funding. Nikita, who had not been her usual self, did not question Ryan. Birkoff thought she had always trusted Ryan's raw instinct and intellect so she felt no absolute need to present much of her ideas. Her relationship with Michael was not the only thing she left that very day – she left a colossal part of herself as well and worse yet, Birkoff suspected, she did not acknowledge this loss. _

_Generally, Ryan led and directed their mission. The only input Nikita had was how to execute their plan, such as their strategy and choices of weapons. But this mission was different. They were told that assassinating Roman Lewinsky, auctioneer of a particular section of the black-market, any ties Division has with this weapon-auctioning business would immediately be skewered. Lewinsky operated for a b-class Russian gang, importing and handling weapons. Division, having access to such weapons of mass destruction, entrusted him to be able to overprice their weapons and sell for a much higher profit. His own gang was a regular victim. Of course, he own commission was hefty. _

_Ryan discovered that Lewinsky would be at the next auction in an abandoned warehouse located just south of England. They would have to be extra cautious due to the crowding of both amateur gang members, who are always trying to please their bosses, and trained personnel, who were always ready and armed. Since the warehouse was basically located in the middle of nowhere, Birkoff would have to be near the site in order to assist Nikita in the technical aspects of the mission. Nikita would pretend to represent a very wealthy buyer, when in reality, she would be searching for Lewinsky, and waiting for the right moment to kill the bastard. But when they arrived, things were not what they expected. Indeed there were numerous men clad in suits, looking identical to each other, too identical. They were not people from different gangs. They were part of one organization – Division._

_Birkoff heard the trepidation in her voice when she spoke, "Birkoff, this is all a set up!", followed by the rings of gunfire and cries of dying men. Before he knew, three agents raided his van, snatched him forcefully from his seat, and dragged him across the field, hoping to lure Nikita out. As he was being pulled along, he heard an explosion. It took him a few seconds to register the fact that their van had just been blown up. How were they going to leave this hole? Unsurprisingly, Nikita was a few steps ahead, anticipating their movements. In a blink of an eye she had shot down the three and hauling Birkoff to a cleared section of the warehouse. _

_From the panic he could hear in her voice, Birkoff knew the situation was bad, though Nikita tried to not give away too much. They were outnumbered with no means of escape. _

"_God dammit," she fussed as she yanked the Kevlar from him and dressed him, "Don't argue."_

"_You're awfully bossy," he couldn't help but say._

"_I get that a lot. You'll learn in time," she said with a smile. Birkoff was relieved that the tension was slightly smothered. "The plan right now is to get our hands on their vehicles. They didn't just appear magically. We use whatever we see first. You do know how to drive, right?"_

"_Damn right I do!" he said defensively. _

_She smiled wryly, "You're not as useless as I'd thought."_

"_This brain," he said as he pointed to his temple, "is like an intelligence machine."_

"_Uh huh…" she purposely cringed, "We can have a discussion about that hopefully never."_

_She took a gun that was strapped to her waistband and handed it to him, "I know you hate doing this, Birkoff, but you're going to have to use it if you want to live."_

"_Yeah, I know the drill," he said accepting the SIG-Sauer P239. He tried weighing it around, hoping to somehow get accustomed to the feeling of firearms. They were deadly things he preferred to avoid._

"_Follow my lead and don't get lost," she commanded, "Ready?"_

"_As I'll ever be," he grasped onto the P239 closely, like it was the magic key to blessed life._

"_Wait," she said abruptly._

_Birkoff instantly stopped and looked at her. "What?"_

"_Birkoff, if… if something happens m… either of us," she quickly corrected, "the other is going to move on. I mean, the other is going to live a life, a real life that you want. Find someone that you like, start a family, and whatnot."_

_Birkoff knew she meant for him to move on, to finally drop this whole Division business. What are the odds of him surviving, him the one wearing the Kevlar and using her P239, over her, whom was simply armed with her other P239? _

_He would not accept any possibility that something calamitous might happen to her. "I don't know if you've already figured, Nikki, but you're damn invincible."_

_She smiled at his faith in her, "Sure nerd. Promise me anyways."_

"_Fine. I promise."_

"_Good," but with sudden dejection she added, "I truly am sorry."_

"_You're about to save my ass and you're sorry?"_

"_I haven't been myself for a long time. It is my fault that we are so ill prepared for this mission; my fault that I didn't pay closer attention to the intel Ryan was fed. It is evident that this whole situation is a set-up."_

_Birkoff offered a sad smile, but couldn't resist asking, "Is this about Mikey?"_

"_I miss him… a lot but I'm the one trained for this, the one who is supposed to distinguish my emotions from personal and professional. Yet, I don't ever go to sleep without thinking of his face," she scoffed, "Sometimes I think to myself that if I'm about to die, the last thing I want to do is to see him one more time, put my hand on his face, and tell him I love him one last time. I'm pathetic aren't I?"_

"_Only because you love him. Anyways, you don't have to think like that. We are going to get our asses out of here and make a change," he said squeezing her arm in reassurance that things will be fine._

"_We will run out of ammo before we're even near killing them all. We will have to run out from that door," she said point to the door labeled with EXIT, "and we are going to find any means of transportation – cars, trucks, helicopters, anything. Don't shoot when you don't have to. We'll need all the ammunition you have. And when we start, we can't stop."_

"_I have your back," he said not knowing how else to provide any support._

"_Living through this is the biggest favour you'll be doing for me. I'll admit that it will ease my conscience a great deal."_

"_Ready?"_

"_No moment like the present."_

_Nikita ran for the exit, with Birkoff following closely. His heart was pounding so ferociously that it was the only sound he could hear. She checked blind spots, and was attentive to all degrees of their surroundings. Ambushing her was like climbing a stairway to heaven – impossible. _

_Birkoff ceremoniously retold himself that this is just a phase that will soon pass. In a few hours he and Nikita will be safe and will be resting from the horrors of today's events. Then they would laugh about the stupid mistakes they committed, and how God loved them too much to let either of them die. Nikita, like always, will prove the impossible and show the world the legend she is. Invincible Nikita has more than nine lives. _

_Before long, a grab team detected their presence. They, of course, warned their counterparts and all were ready for battle. At the same time, Nikita spotted a line of motorcycles, BMW F800 GS'. _

"_Tell me you know how to ride one of those," she said worriedly amidst gunfire. _

"_I tell you to not call me nerd for a reason," he beamed smitten that he was not a complete drag._

"_Run to it. I'll be right behind you."_

_With that said, Birkoff, finding the right moment when gunfire was not as harsh, started running for his dear life. Nikita should not have given him the gun. There was no way he was going to turn around to randomly shoot a man, and hope to even hit his target. The gun was wasted in his hands. He heard Nikita's steps behind his. She shot any agent that was too close. Suddenly he heard her groan, and felt the splatter of blood upon his cheek as he turned to observe the situation. _

"_Nikita…" A bullet whizzed past her arm, and another past her leg. _

"_Keep going!" she yelled, ignoring the pain that ignited with each open wound. _

_She raised her gun and open fire, aimlessly though, to scare of any oncoming agents. This way they would have a few more seconds to board their bikes. Nikita jump-started his bike then quickly got on her own and did the same. They hurriedly equipped their helmets. She purposely stood behind him, ready to react to any sudden movements against him. As the gunfire started again, Birkoff was already on his way, with Nikita at his tail. He heard her shoot back until the gun let out a sharp clicking sound – she was out of bullets. She clipped her gun back on her waist and they two zoomed down the mountainous road. _

_The sense of relief was overwhelming. Birkoff silently promised himself to value life more, maybe starting with ridding his habit of excessively drinking red bull. He looked over to Nikita, wanting to savour the moment with her. But something was wrong, very wrong. Her body was hunched, swaying left and right. She spat a mouthful of blood, tainting her helmet. She tried to sustain a normal posture, but alas, she could not. Seconds later she toppled over to her side, falling off the motorcycle. Her body rolled a few meters while her bike slide to a screeching halt on its side leaving a trail of gasoline. _

_Birkoff, without delay, stopped and ran to her. _Don't panic, don't panic,_ he thought to himself, _I just have to help her get back on her feet._ He was, no doubt, in denial. He was slightly relieved to see her breathe, albeit too heavily. He took off her helmet and gathered her in his arms. He felt the blood drench his hands, the blood flowing onto the pavement flooding each and every crease it contacted. My God the woman had been shot a few times in the back as they were escaping. _

"_Oh my God! Fuck," Birkofff couldn't assuage his rage, "Oh my God, Nikki! I told you to use the fucking Kevlar. Why did you make me use it? Look what happened to you"_

_She coughed, releasing more blood that drifted toward her chin. She should have used the Kevlar! It was a miracle alone that she did not die yet. In her eyes Birkoff saw the appreciation she had for this short time she had left. May God condemn her if she wasted this precious moment. They both knew that her time would expire soon, so she tried to speak._

"_Bir…Birkoff," she said, her voice so silent that he had to lean in to listen, "Th..The promise that you made me… you better remember it."_

"_Don't think about that right now! Let's just get you somewhere safe first."_

_She scoffed, but then smiled, "Birkoff, things have to end this way."_

"_No! Remember that you're the one with a gazillion lives. You've proven yourself invincible time and time again. Things WON'T end here."_

_She coughed, her body wrenching from the force. Birkoff felt her pain. He wanted to shout at God for not killing this woman. She deserved a quick death, but here she was, slowly dying. All right in front of his eyes. _

"_Put me up against the sign," she commanded as she pointed to the position, "Make sure I'm facing my bike. Hurry!"_

_Momentarily forgetting that they were still being hunted, he did as he was told. He dragged her and heard her suppress her growl of agony. Birkoff wanted to weep. He was inflicting this discomfort on her and there was nothing he could do to subdue it even the slightest bit. _

_After he completed his task she said, "Pass me your gun."_

_She sat leaning against the wooden pole, legs sprawled in front of her. She could no longer move them. She couldn't feel them for that matter, except for pain. _

_He complied wondering what she was up to. She took out the ammunition cartridge, and ejected a single bullet. Then she proceeded to load her own gun with it. She held the gun, armed with only a single bullet._

"_Nikita you're quite amusing. What is a single bullet going to do?"_

_She let out a hearty laughter, but was accompanied by a rough cough. "Well, Birkoff, its going straight through the gas tank in my bike. It is going to cause a distraction that will officially end this battle."_

"_Then how are you getting out?"_

"_We both know I'm not," she said with stony-face. _

"_Fucking hell…" Birkoff said grabbing onto his gruff hair, "Do you really know what you're doing?"_

"_There's no way for me to get out. Death over torture, Birkoff. You and I both know I hold secrets that can be devastating."_

"_Especially to Michael, right?"_

"_Oh Birkoff, none of this is Michael's fault," she coughed once again, but this time, more blood oozed down the edge of her lips. She looked so fragile, so broken. Birkoff never once imagined the day he would see his invincible hero succumb to an end like this. He always saw her live the rest of her life with Michael, the day where they would make the white picket fence thing happen. But here she was, lying on the side of the road half dead and still waiting for eternal peace. She deserved a warrior's death, but fate decided to force her to commit suicide. _

_He grabbed her hand and held it to his heart. She once again reminded him, "Remember you're promise to me. Leave things the way they are and turn yourself to someone you want to be. Leave things the way they are – all things."_

_Birkoff knew what she was hinting. He knew she wanted him to keep this from Michael. It would break him. Michael would live the rest of his life with guilt and regret he can't bear. He would live his life mourning and blaming himself for not having to choose the latter. And Birkoff knew this was not what Nikita wanted. He stared deep into her eyes, searching for confirmation that this is what she truly desired._

"_Go," she said meekly as she attempted to push him away with the little strength she had left, "Get out of here before they come. Don't ever look back." _

_He gave her one last prolonged hug. He ritualistically equipped his helmet, got on his bike and rode off. Minutes later he heard the clap of gunfire that was promptly followed by an explosion. As if he felt the heat hugging his back, he revved up the engine and rode faster. He rode faster to escape death, but more importantly, to escape the terrible memories that continue to haunt him. Birkoff believed men should not cry, but his best friend was dying so why the fuck should he care? _

_He allowed tears to fall freely. He weeps because he lost his hero, because like her, he was -no, he is- alone. His heart yearns and aches for her. In the end, she was inevitably alone. Perhaps his greatest gift to her was to stay, though she made it clear that that wasn't what she wanted. So this was the price of freedom – losing until you had nothing left. _

As the sun started setting, Birkoff was knocked out of his reverie. He knew Nikita had wanted him to keep this from Michael, but didn't the man deserve to know? Birkoff had no doubt that Michael loved her with his whole being…until he left, he supposes.

For a moment Birkoff was annoyed at the position he was left in. What the hell is the right thing to do? What was he supposed to do? Even with her dead, he felt stuck between his two best friends. He put his hands in his pockets, enjoying the last bit of sunlight. The breeze was quickly blowing by, but he savoured it, glad he was still able to do so.

He took out his phone. Begrudgingly he dialed Michael's number, which he obtained through a series of hacking steps.

As the dial tone rang in his hear, he kept wondering if he should do this. _Maybe Michael is unavailable anyways,_ he thought to himself. If Michael didn't pick up, it must conceivably be fate's inclination to forbid this. Birkoff was lost in his thoughts until he heard a click.

"Hello?" Michael's voice filled his ear.

_Shit._


End file.
